Word of the Day
by Schnorkie
Summary: oneshots/drabbles inspired by the 'Word of The Day' e-mails I get. They are mostly Dean and Castiel centric. Light Destiel slash if you want to look at some of them like that.
1. Jaundiced

**This is the first of my Dictionary one shots They will be added as chapters, but are self-standing. **

**This is not my first work; I deleted all my old stuff and this is the beginning of my new collection. Out with the old; in with the new (so they say). **

**I just picked a random 'word of the day' email from my inbox (they get e-mailed to me) and flew at 'er. The oneshots are not connected (sometimes even more of drabbles). They also go off on tangents. Don't expect the chosen word to be in the story, for I focus more on the idea the word portrays (or whatever it makes me think of).**

**Very obviously, I do not own Supernatural.**

Jaundiced: Affected with or exhibiting prejudice, as from envy or resentment.  
(Set around the 5th season)

Castiel had dealt with Dean's jaundice for months now. Listening to him curse and blaspheme about Uriel and the other angels. At the beginning, it often took all his self-control to not smite the Winchester into the ground. But, as time wore on, he began to acclimatize to the man's foul language, his drinking, and his nymphomania. Actually, as the angel thought about it, it was almost tolerable now. It wasn't like he would participate in the "angel bashing" (as Sam called it) himself, but was now able stay in the same room without wanting to throttle Dean. No, now Castiel only had the small want to twitch after large strings of blaspheme. It was something he was sure his brothers would not partake in, and probably would shun Castiel for, but really, these days there was much they would reprimand him for. He only wished that he would not be sullied in the eyes of God.

He was taking care of the Winchesters, that was the important thing...at least he hoped it was.

Pulling himself out of his introspection, Castiel stood up from the wooden park bench he had situated himself on. Was a cool fall evening, leaving the park with an almost abandoned feeling, despite it lying in the heart of a large city. The trees whispered incomprehensible stories as their leaves danced in a chilling breeze. Castiel could not feel the cold, but he was certain that was what the Winchesters would describe the night as. As he stood in front of the park bench, he thought to himself where he should go; to Dean, to Heaven, to Where? His home, Heaven, was no option for him anymore, and he was sure that Dean was busy making merry over the hunt Sam and he had just finished. Perhaps he should just sit here, on this bench, surrounded by the whispering trees. Or maybe he wouldn't, he thought, as a rock tune pumped from his phone's small speakers.

Castiel didn't even bother looking at the call display before flipping open the phone and answering. "Hello," he said, trying to keep his voice calm and clear.

"Oh Cas! Hey, Sam is being a GIRL and wanted to know if you wanted to get a beer with us," Dean said. There was loud music in the background and Dean sounded more than slightly inebriated.

Castiel sighed slightly before pointedly replying, "You know that I do not partake in the consumption of alcohol, Dean."

Dean started to respond, but was cut off by Sam. A Brotherly squabble ensued for several moments before either brother answered. It was Sam. "Sorry about that Cas. Dean is a little drunk. He was _supposed_ to ask if you could pick us up, not if you wanted a drink."

"I suppose I may give you a ride back to your motel, but may I ask. Why didn't you just call a taxi cab?"

"We didn't think of that," the younger Winchester said after a small pause.

"That is alright," Castiel said curtly. "I will be there in a moment."

"We're at the Maple's. It's on the corner of Main and third," was Sam's last rushed reply before Castiel ended the call. He shut the cell phone and slipped it back into his trench coat's pocket before vanishing into the night. He was needed.

**I hope it wasn't awful; I know that drunk Dean was very very silly and out of character. Reviews are absolute love, by the way.**


	2. Cosmogony

**As obvious, I do not own Supernatural.**

Cosmogony: A theory or story of the origin and development of the universe

Before meeting Cas and learning the ugly about the universe, Dean supposed he would have scoffed at the idea of angels. Actually, it was known fact that he hadn't believed in the Winged bastards. It was a perfectly logical for the fact that he had fought his ass off for the better part of his life, trying to keep the big, bad wolf (and all his jack-ass freak relatives) from harming as many innocent villagers as possible. And where was God when mom died? When John decided to uproot them "temporarily"?

"God can go screw himself," Dean thought angrily.

"Dean," Castiel said from behind him. He had not heard the nerd-Angel ghost up behind. When he turned around he saw the Angel with his usual 5 o'clock shadow, dirty trench coat, and tie. They were only a hairsbreadth away, and Dean unconsciously backed up.

"Dammit Cas!" the hunter exclaimed, "What have we talked about!?"

The Angel cocked his head in confusion; Dean couldn't help but notice the way it made him seem like an overgrown puppy.

"We have talked of many things, Dean," the Angel of the Lord said seriously; his voice getting that "You-should-be-more-specific" tone.

Dean ran his hand through his short hair and groaned. "I mean that you agreed not to poof up unannounced, read my thoughts, and give me some personal space," he said.

Castiel blinked, "Oh, those conversations," he said, his voice a rumble. "I am sorry; I did not believe it aggravated you."

Dean shook his head and went over to the small fridge located in the kitchenette. At least the current dump of a motel they were staying at had one. Grabbing a cold one out of it, he walked back towards Cas.

"Cas, what did you even come here for?" Dean asked.

"You were in distress," the angel said, like it was an obvious fact.

"Cas, I wasn't in distress! I was just thinking."

"I don't believe I like your "thinking". It is much too blasphemous and self-depreciating."

"Much too human, you mean," Dean spat.

"To be human is to love, Dean," the angel said, looking towards the ceiling. "It is to feel. Love, Sadness, Hurt, Faith, Fear, Lust, Anger, and Content are all emotions that you experience. Not all experiences are pleasant; the world isn't about living with rose coloured glasses on. It is impossible to go through life feeling like there isn't anything wrong. There is murderers, muggers, pedophiles, rapists, vampires, werewolves and innumerable other kinds of "baddies". Even the regular man whom doesn't know about the supernatural knows about some sector of the evil. Most delude themselves into thinking there IS no way that could happen to them. Forgive me; I lost the point of my rant. Either way, God can't help everyone, or really-," the angel gave a sad smile,"-anyone. Your kind was created, the final masterpiece of God, but after that you were on your own. We were only to step in when it came to desperate measures."

"Like to derail the apocalypse only to then attempt to restart it?" Dean said accusingly.

"Do not blame me for the mistakes of my brothers," Castiel warned, giving the hunter a 'Seriously don't even try to screw with me' glare.

"Alright, alright," the hunter said, backing down. He downed the last of his beer and went for another, which he downed in moments. "Would you like one, Cas?"

The angel shook his head and shot a look of disdain, "You know very well that I do not...partake in the consumption of alcohol."

"You don't partake in the consumption of anything, Cas. Not women, food, alcohol; man you're missing what it's all about. All that crap you were just spewing about love and emotions, it sucks. I don't think you're missing much; being human kills."

"You are so wrong, Dean. Do you even know-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah; Being human is amazing; big gift; cherish it; and all that crap. You don't need to preach the same sermon twice Cassy boy."

Cas looked affronted by the Hunter's lack of respect, and then realized that Dean had started taking large swigs of Jack Daniels straight from the bottle. "Dean!" the angel admonished.

"What?" the Hunter said angrily as he sat down on his bed. "I'm not getting _that_ drunk. It just-"

"It just what, Dean?" the angel asked.

"Nothing," Dean lied.

"Tell me," the Angel commanded as he loomed over Dean. Although he was several inches shorter than Dean when standing, the way the angel held himself made him seem imposing and deadly serious. Hell, Cas_always_ was imposing and deadly serious.

Dean remained silent for a few moments. "It keeps the nightmares away," he whispered,

obviously ashamed to be admitting weakness.

Castiel struggled to keep his expression neutral. "It is understandable," he said woodenly, "you have been through hell in a very literal sense."

"Yeah," the hunter mumbled before standing up, crossing the room to wear his duffel bag lay, and grabbing a pair of clothes within. "Cas, do you mind, you know, turning around or something so that I can change?" Normally Dean wouldn't have cared, but the Angel's serious gaze was unnerving him.

The Angel nodded, "I must leave soon anyways, now that I know you are alright."

"Well, thanks for coming, I suppose," Dean said. With one final nod and a flutter of wings, Cas was gone.

Sighing, Dean readied himself for bed, mentally preparing himself for a relentless night of torture.

Minutes after Dean had settled into a sleep pattern ensuring he would not wake, Castiel returned unseen to the human's eye. He stood at Dean's bedside all night, as still as a sentry, with his hand pressed up to his handprint seared into Dean's skin; forever guarding the Hunter's dreams from the things that caused him harm.

In the morning, Dean woke to a slight hangover, but was feeling surprisingly well rested. It didn't even occur to him until late afternoon that he had been nightmare-free for the first time in months. It only even came to the Hunter's attention when Sam asked in passing if Dean had had a good sleep, while Sam had been doing hours of research.

"Bitch," Was Dean's immediate reply.

"Jerk," Sam completed. It was the first time those words had been exchanged in months. The custom exchange between the two had stilled over the last hard years, and neither had been able to honestly pick up the banter. There was too much sorrow, too much pain, and far too much work in their recent past. But, perhaps there was still hope for the Winchester boys.

**Okay, so Dean's a bit of a jerk in this one, but he's just grumpy. He's a grumpy, grumpy boy.**


End file.
